


the black parade

by lovelylogans



Series: the sideshire files [7]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Cryptids, Grief/Mourning, M/M, My Chemical Romance References, Remus mentions, Sharing a Bed, wyliwf!verse, you don't grow out of your emo phase kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21875359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelylogans/pseuds/lovelylogans
Summary: patton first hears about it, surprisingly, from his son.though logan isn’tquiteas in tune (well,pattonthinks it’s funny!) with the music scene as the sanders’ significant others—roman with pop and musicals, and virgil with his more eclectic taste—he is, of course, the most in tune with the news.the mcr reunion certainly qualifies as news.when patton opens the link his son has texted him, he stares at it for a few seconds, and says aloud, “ah.”so, virgil is probably goingabsolutely feral.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Series: the sideshire files [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1464067
Comments: 30
Kudos: 187





	the black parade

**Author's Note:**

> anonymous: I just came up with just like the worst prompt for a sideshire file: adult, sensible, reasonable Virgil finding out MCR is back and flipping out  
> lovelylogans: how dare you call this absolute gem of a prompt “the worst” also did i schedule this to come out on the day of the concert YES!!! the timeline is kinda hand-wavey on this one, so let’s just say it happens shortly after the main storyline and it makes sense for mcr to announce that news on that date and for it to fit in with the narrative i’m telling here, okay? okay! (the song roman is listening to is [“bombastic” by bonnie mckee](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJXs5YOkTqk), and honestly sub in any mcr instrumentals for any song virgil is mentioned to be listening to this oneshot.)

_we’ll carry on, we’ll carry on  
and though you’re dead and gone, believe me  
your memory will carry on  
we’ll carry on  
_

- _welcome to the black parade_ , my chemical romance

patton first hears about it, surprisingly, from his son.

though logan isn’t _quite_ as in tune (well, _patton_ thinks it’s funny!) with the music scene as the sanders’ significant others—roman with pop and musicals, and virgil with his more eclectic taste—he is, of course, the most in tune with the news.

the mcr reunion certainly qualifies as news.

when patton opens the link his son has texted him, he stares at it for a few seconds, and says aloud, “ah.”

so, virgil is probably going _absolutely feral._

back when patton had first gotten to know virgil, his interest in music had been surprising—the diner usually played soft music, jazz or old-timey songs or instrumentals, non-offensive songs that usually everyone could tolerate and talk over without noticing it very much, playlists swapping up so that employees on the same shift wouldn’t want to plug their ears if they ever heard buddy holly again. 

now he knows that virgil doesn’t that over into his personal life, and that he mostly plays that music because it’s the kind of music his parents played when _they_ ran the diner. when patton first sees virgil’s music collection, he was surprised, and then he thought about it more and it made sense. why else would he always be listening to music on his headphones, even when it was just the two of them? 

now, it’s weird to even think that he’d thought virgil’s taste was ever, well. _tame,_ he supposes. mainstream.

patton checks the time. it’s probably early enough that he can pass this off as a coffee break, and not to check that virgil has passed out in the midst of the diner.

patton’s trying to formulate the best way to ask “so, have you heard the news?” question in case _patton_ is somehow the one to break it to him, but when he walks into the diner and listens to the music for a couple seconds, he doesn’t even need to bother asking. it speaks for itself.

to virgil’s credit, he isn’t blaring the entire mcr discography.

he _is,_ however, blaring instrumental covers of what seems like the entire mcr discography.

or at least, the diner is—virgil’s nowhere in sight. patton just kind of assumes that he’s back in the kitchen, so he goes to sit at the counter, waiting for him to emerge with a tray or a rag, maybe not grinning, except for maybe that soft secretive smile he does sometimes, but probably humming along.

he doesn’t come out for a while—that’s pretty normal, this time of day, it _is_ the early dinner rush—but then patton puts in an order for hot cocoa/coffee.

and he actually _gets it._ and he can _smell_ that it’s not decaf. which means—

patton leans over the counter, and smiles at jean. “where’s v?”

“kitchen,” jean says.

“and he actually gave me something caffeinated at this time of day? are we sure this is virgil?”

jean laughs. “i guess he’s in a good mood, then.”

patton smiles down at his mug, tracing his pinky around its rim. “guess so.”

patton sips his way through about two-thirds of his mug before virgil emerges from the kitchen, towel swept over his shoulder, a carafe of coffee in each hand. which is mostly normal.

except he’s humming, and _grinning,_ and instead of his usual purple flannel or hoodie, he’s wearing all black. there’s the flash of a band tee underneath the black hoodie he’s got on. patton hides his grin behind his mug. 

“oh, hey,” virgil says, snapping out of his haze.

“so i guess i’m not about to break the news to you, huh?” patton teases.

“nah, you’re not,” virgil says, smiling still as he replaces the coffee carafes before he leans on the counter. the other servers, used to this, scoot around him in their quest to deliver food back and forth.

“we could time a visit to chris to go, if you want,” patton says. “since he lives in california.”

virgil looks _incredibly_ tempted, before he says, “let’s think on it?”

patton nods and leans over the counter to kiss virgil on the cheek—a new thing he’s been doing lately, now that they’re _dating_ —virgil ducks his head, flushing, like he does every time. patton can’t help the smile that springs onto his face, every time.

“i’m happy you’re happy about it, darling,” patton says. 

“you’re ruining my street cred,” virgil mutters, blushing still.

patton fights his own grin. yeah, virgil’s _street cred,_ his reputation rife with hoisting kids into his arms so they could better see the pastry display, and well-known for opening his door to anyone who had a last-minute stitching or alteration emergency, including a number of teary-eyed brides who’d invite him to their wedding on the spot, regularly slipping extra tips to his workers who were struggling, would definitely be harmed by his boyfriend—partner?—kissing him on the cheek. 

what he says instead of any of that is, “you’re marathoning punk rock in the diner right now, honey, i don’t think your rep’s gonna get harmed from anything i do.”

virgil tilts his head, acknowledging this point. “you sticking around for dinner?”

“should be,” patton says. “i’ll text logan that i’m here.”

“mkay,” virgil says, and digs around in his pocket, fishing out his notepad and pen with a flourish. “wanna order now or later?”

patton probably shouldn’t use virgil’s good mood for his own benefit. he really, really shouldn’t. but he’s got a _real_ craving, so…

“refill of hot cocoa/coffee, cheeseburger, fries?” patton tries, keeping his voice _extra_ blasé. 

a soft hum of acknowledgement as virgil scrawls it all down, and says, “cheddar cheese, right, or do you want colby jack?”

patton smiles. “cheddar cheese, please. oh, and some french silk pie?”

virgil tilts his head at patton with a look, fond and irked, and patton gives him a sheepish grin.

virgil sighs. “and french silk pie,” he grumbles, adding it on, and patton nearly crows with victory. he loses that battle when he can’t contain a soft “ha!” as virgil tops off his mug. 

virgil rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile clinging around the edges of his mouth as he disappears back into the kitchen.

patton digs out his phone. _get to virgil’s he’s just given me junk food AND caffeine AND a dessert!!!!!!!!!_

_He added vegetables, surely?_

_NONE!!!!!!!!!!!_

a pause. _I’ll be there shortly._

patton grins and tucks his phone back into his pocket. even if logan was better with nutrition than he was, logan was still weak for a good, artery-clogging meal once in a while. virgil handing them out on a silver platter? a rarity that practically _demanded_ to be taken advantage of.

when his phone buzzes, and the bell jangles, patton turns to see logan and roman filing into the diner. patton picks up his mug of hot cocoa/coffee, and heads back to join roman and logan in a booth, sitting across from them.

“hi, roman,” patton says.

“i heard virgil is handing out junk food like it’s candy,” roman says excitedly. “i want to see if i can talk him into giving me endless soda refills, for once.”

“he’s refilled my hot cocoa/coffee,” patton says, gleeful. “my _caffeinated_ hot cocoa/coffee.”

“chances are good!” roman practically cheers. “i wanna get, ooh, um—um, breakfast for dinner! like a _platter_ of breakfast for dinner!”

“it’s worth a shot,” patton says. “logan?”

“me too,” logan decides. “i want pancakes.”

“trade you bites of french toast for bites of pancake?”

“deal.”

roman and logan fall into discussing the latest happenings around the town—stories about the little kids in dance classes, the latest _courant_ goofs, the hottest pieces of old-lady gossip—and by the time virgil re-emerges from the kitchen, patton gets to watch him blink, bemused and a little startled, at the absence of patton at the counter.

biting back a giggle, patton leans out of the booth so virgil can see him more clearly, and virgil nods, maybe saying “ _ahhh”_ under his breath, and emerges from behind the counter.

“hey, what can i get—“

a moment, a brief moment, one that patton isn’t sure that roman or logan even notice—when they both turn, roman grinning and logan… looking polite, at least—virgil falters, eyes widening, and he swallows, eyes flashing with… _something._ and then—

“—you two?”

“hot cocoa/coffee and a stack of pancakes,” logan says, looking at virgil sidelong, and virgil nods, eyes wide and… strangely attentive? not that virgil isn’t _usually_ attentive, it’s just that virgil looks like… well, virgil looks like something’s struck him and he’s realized Something and he’s paying even closer attention. or something.

“how many?”

“um,” logan says, and glances at patton, who mouths _go for it_ so logan says, “five?”

“five pancakes, hot cocoa/coffee, got it,” virgil says, absent, and then he swallows again. “roman?” he says gruffly.

“i want the breakfast combo with bacon, and french toast, and waffles, and hashbrowns, and instead of the regular toast side thing can i do biscuits and gravy?”

“bacon, french toast, waffles, hash browns, biscuits and gravy instead of toast, got it,” virgil says, staring at him still. “drink?”

“cherry coke?”

“yeah, of course,” virgil says, strangely choked, and then he just kind of—does something weird? even by virgil standards. wait, _especially_ by virgil standards.

virgil awkwardly puts a hand on roman’s shoulder, removes it, and then puts it back on his shoulder again, and when roman looks up at him with a bemused kind of smile, virgil leans in, halting and jerking, and then just kind of—hugs him?

it might actually be generous to call it a hug. he sort of wraps roman up in his arms, and his arms just kind of end up circling roman’s head, because he’s standing and roman’s sitting, and roman, bewildered, manages to reach up and pat virgil’s shoulder, and virgil pats roman’s hair in a reciprocal moment of oddness before he lets go of him and says “um, right, okay, i’ll put those orders in and get someone to bring out your drinks” and speedwalks away from any semblance of a lingering awkward moment.

“um,” roman says, and flicks his hand to correct his hair from where virgil mussed it up. “that was… kind of weird? that was weird, right?”

“that was strange,” logan agrees, at the same time patton says, “yep, definitely weird.”

the conversation moves forward slowly, and jean ends up dropping off their drinks (and! giving! patton! a! third!!! refill!) and then jean ends up… bringing out their food, too? with no healthy alterations, which is good. virgil even gives him some ice cream with his pie, so that patton can combine it in a slightly disgusting but _very_ delicious mess.

and by the time the check comes, virgil hasn’t re-emerged from the kitchen. which. okay. it’s dinner rush. sure.

but usually, he at least comes out to say _goodbye._

so patton digs out his phone, and sends him a _you’re free to drop by the house once you close up!_ text.

and then he ends up walking home with logan and roman. or, well.

“um,” logan says, when they’re about fifteen feet from the prince’s studio and apartment, “dad?”

“huh?” patton says, distracted, before the look that roman and logan exchange _clicks,_ and the whole “walking someone home” thing clicks, and his own teenage experiences, and he says, “oh! oh, right! right, right, right.”

“ _dad,”_ logan groans.

“you wanna get me out of the way so you two can do cute couple-y teenager things, right, i get you,” patton says, grinning still, backing away slowly. “your old man’s still hip, you know.”

“ _dad.”_

“don’t mind me, i’m just gonna,” patton says, grinning still, and waves a hand vaguely. “i’m just gonna stare _real closely_ at the, um, the town decorations over there, and, uh, you can come and tap me on the shoulder when you’re ready to keep walking home, yeah?”

patton turns his back at the same time logan makes a strangled, embarrassed noise, and roman giggles, and he hears logan say “i’m sorry about— _that_ ” and roman giggle and say “don’t be. you’re cute when you get all huffy, you know” and then patton’s out of earshot and stares _very_ intently at the wreaths and garlands dotting the town.

his baby has a boyfriend. it’s cute. it’s puppy love. it’s the kind of tooth-achingly sweet first relationship and the subsequent milestones that patton could have ever hoped for his son, even if the concept of “logan” and “dating” were still two very strange concepts to combine. it also provides patton his lifetime quota of “good-natured teasing of my child” that was bestowed upon him the moment he became a dad.

there’s a tap on his shoulder, and he turns to see logan, who’s blushing, just a little bit.

“we really need to coordinate our walks home so this never happens again,” logan grumbles, already walking past him, and patton picks up the pace.

“aw, hon, don’t be embarrassed,” patton says. “it’s perfectly natural to—”

“ _no,”_ logan complains, and patton laughs even as he starts to croon, “logan and roman, sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s-s—”

“ _dad!”_

* * *

patton’s humming quietly to himself by the time he hears his front door open, and he smiles.

“hey,” he calls, setting aside the book he’d been reading. well. attempting to read.

 _stomp, stomp, stomp,_ virgil clearing his boots of any lingering wetness that might track onto patton’s carpet. the susurrus of virgil taking off his bulky winter coat and tucking it in with the others in the coat closet. a kiss dropped on the top of patton’s head. 

“hey,” virgil murmurs, and patton shuffles aside, tugging up his blanket, so that virgil has space to settle in beside patton, as most of the other spaces in the living room are taken up by laundry or books. this way, patton can cuddle him. patton may have plotted a little bit to ensure this development happened.

patton sighs happily as he tosses the blanket over virgil and snuggles into virgil’s side.

“rest of the shift go okay?” he asks, voice soft.

“yeah, it’s fine,” virgil murmurs, adjusting a little so that his arm settles soundly over patton’s shoulders. 

“good,” patton murmurs, rests his head on virgil’s shoulder and fights off a yawn. the yawn is afforded a narrow victory. “that’s good.”

“you haven’t been staying up for me, have you?”

“nuh-uh,” patton fibs, and then, “okay, _yes,_ but i got your text and i didn’t wanna be rude by just being asleep when you got here.”

“i wouldn’t have been offended by you being well-rested,” virgil murmurs.

“you’re gonna say that i should—”

“—get ready for bed, yeah,” virgil finishes, sounding amused. “you know, i bet you’re so tired because—”

“don’t say it,” patton complains, even as virgil’s standing and tugging patton to his feet.

“—because of caffeine crash,” virgil finishes triumphantly. “you got way more caffeine than you’re used to this time of day, and—”

patton groans as he stamps up the stairs, even though he’s holding virgil’s hand the whole way, pulling him all the way into his bed. 

“stay here,” patton commands. “i’m gonna do what you want.”

“you say that like i’m not just asking you put on your pajamas and brush your teeth,” virgil says, amused, and patton rolls his eyes even as he bends to kiss virgil.

“the next one will be minty-fresh,” patton informs him, before he flounces off to the bathroom. the last thing he sees is virgil sitting on his bed and bending to remove his boots, a smile playing about his lips.

when he comes back, virgil’s tugging on a t-shirt, one he’d left the last time he spent the night, and patton flops happily onto his bed, watching as virgil smooths down the hem. virgil turns, and patton pats the other side of the bed.

“minty-fresh, huh?” virgil asks, as he lifts the covers and slides into place.

patton grins at him. “shameless,” he teases, before he leans in to kiss virgil, and patton can taste that virgil had brushed his teeth, too, probably before he’d even come over, the kiss soft and sleepy, and patton smiles as they pull back.

“love you,” patton says, and presses a kiss to virgil’s shoulder for emphasis.

“i love you too,” virgil says. “lamp off?” 

“yeah, sure,” patton says, and virgil leans up. the room’s doused in darkness. patton reaches for virgil and settles his head onto virgil’s chest.

“your shift was really okay, though?” patton asks, shifting in place to get comfy.

“yeah, ‘course,” virgil says, and adjusts slightly himself, settling his hand on patton’s shoulder blade.

“you sure?”

“why wouldn’t i be sure?”

“because,” patton says, “and, no pressure whatever you decide, but you got kinda weird with roman, and i’m wondering if it was just a momentary fluke of weirdness or something that you maybe wanted to talk about.”

virgil freezes. patton feels him tense. 

“oh,” virgil says quietly. “that.”

“yeah,” patton says softly, and leans a little so that he can try to see virgil’s face with the slivers of light slanting through his blinds from the half-moon tonight.

virgil chews his lip for a few seconds, before he blurts out, “remus liked mcr.”

oh. roman’s dad.

patton had met him once, one time, if you could even call it _meeting—_ he’d accidentally eavesdropped on a conversation between virgil and remus, and that’s how he’d known that remus was going to become a father. patton had asked virgil about him, after, and virgil had said he was an old friend, promised to introduce patton to him, maybe introduce remus’ kid to logan, once he was out of the womb.

and then he’d died. and virgil hadn’t talked about him very much since.

“yeah?” patton prompts, voice gentle and soft.

“yeah,” virgil says, a little rough, and he clears his throat, squirming a little. “uh—he mostly liked stuff that most people… didn’t really like, i guess. stuff outside of the norm. he had the biggest cd collection of anyone i knew. metal, punk rock, screamo, witch house.” a flicker of a smile. “medieval folk rock.”

“medieval folk rock?” patton says, voice edged in a laugh.

“if it was weird, he liked it,” virgil says. “god, the things he’d play on the radio, sometimes… we’d be going to egg someone’s house or something, and he’d be blaring slavic polka or ectofolk or just—” virgil snorts, “—one time, he just kept playing _it’s a small world._ for a _week._ i could’ve strangled him.”

“he sounds like he was funny,” patton offers.

“you’d have to have a very specific sense of humor to find him funny,” virgil says. 

“did you?” patton says. “find him funny, i mean.”

“mm. sometimes. some things he said, i thought he was funny. others… others kind of scared me,” virgil says. he clears his throat. “remus didn’t particularly have a filter when it came to gross, taboo ideas, and he wasn’t shy about sharing them. doing them, sometimes. he was voted _most likely to go to prison_ when he graduated from sideshire high.”

patton doesn’t really know what to say to that. so he just says, “ah.”

“i’m not sure if you would have liked each other,” virgil says.

“hey,” patton says, frowning.

“oh, you would have tried,” virgil says. “remus would have seen you were trying. he’d say something as a test, something you’d get uncomfortable with. you’d be polite about it and try to change the subject. but remus probably would have seen that you were uncomfortable with the stuff he said, and he would have _delighted_ in grossing you out even more.”

patton considers this, before he says, “like boys on the playground who chase people with a worm on a stick to get everyone to squeal, or something?”

virgil huffs out a laugh. “sure,” he says. “that’s a good enough way to put it. tame, when it’s applied to remus, but… yeah. that’s the gist of it.”

“so,” patton says. “mcr.”

“and seeing roman, sitting there…” virgil says, and exhales a huge, gusting sigh. “face-wise, he looks _so_ much like his dad.”

“face-wise?”

“remus was taller,” virgil says. “i know roman’s not done growing yet, so they might even out, but—but remus had a longer torso, shorter legs. different ears. remus always had dark under-eye circles. there’s something about the hands, too, i think. he was clumsier. had a less muscular build. remus wasn’t much of a dancer—well, he could lift isadora, but that’s about it, and i think that’s mostly because she’s tiny.”

“got it.”

“plus, i mean, remus was white, and since isadora's mexican, roman clearly _isn't_ white, but—but roman’s _face…_ i mean, slap a mustache on there and a white streak in his hair, and put that plotting look on his face that he gets sometimes, and i don’t think i’d be able to tell them apart.”

“like the plotting look like he had at dinner tonight,” patton realizes quietly.

“yeah,” virgil says, then, again, a little choked up. “yeah.”

patton wiggles closer and hugs virgil tighter. 

“you could tell him about him,” patton suggests quietly. “roman about remus, i mean. i bet he’d love to know.”

“maybe,” virgil says. “i spent most of shift thinking about it. i just—you know.”

“miss him?”

“yeah.”

patton isn’t very familiar with grief; his grandparents, barring his granny lorelai, all died either before he was born or when he was a baby. the handful of funerals he went to were for people that he didn’t know very well—relatives he’d seen three times before, old “family friends” that his parents had fallen out of touch with, a couple business partners of his father’s—and so the only part he’s familiar with is this part. the comforting part.

“i’m sorry,” patton says quietly. “is there anything i can do?”

virgil let out a shaky exhale, and his grip tightens. “this is good.”

“okay,” patton says, and holds him tighter. “okay.”

* * *

_i came to win, win, win, better show me what you got  
i came to bring the fire ‘cause you know i like it hot  
gonna win, win, win, ‘cause i’m full of tiger blood  
i’m vicious like a viper and i’m ready to turn it on!_

roman bops his head absentmindedly, headphones soundly on his ears, focus… maybe not quite so sound, but he’s at least holding a pencil and _looking_ at his homework, so he thinks that counts as an attempt at focus on this stupid homework. like, who even _needs_ proofs in real life?

so when a cup that looks like it’s full of soda is set in front of him, roman’s eager to hit pause and set down his pencil, looking up at his deliverer.

“uh, hey,” virgil says. “you busy?”

“not really,” roman lies brightly, pushing aside his homework. virgil’s eyes narrow when he sees it.

“you’re doing homework.”

“it can wait,” roman says, putting down his pencil. “seriously, it can wait. i _want_ it to wait.”

“yeah, kid, that’s half the problem,” virgil retorts, tilting the textbook a little so that he can read, and his brow furrows. “geometry proofs?”

“like i said,” roman says, shoving his papers into the textbook before he closes it, “it can wait.”

“yeah, i guess,” virgil says, and he slides into the seat across from roman, holding onto his own beverage—a mug, probably with decaf coffee, or something—which he’s tap-tap-tapping his fingernails against. “uh. still not a math person?”

“yeah, archi-melancholy, because most people going into dance and theater and the fine arts are so well-known to be math people,” roman quips, and virgil smiles, just a little.

“archimedes joke?”

“i tried,” roman says. “again. not a math person.”

he takes a sip. cherry coke. the actual good kind with caffeine and full sugar and everything. which means that either virgil’s good mood has lasted two days—doubtful, considering he’s fidgeting with his mug—or he’s about to attempt a vague Emotional Talk, or something. he’s pretty sure he picked up the habit of giving people food they like as a special treat whenever there’s the possibility of upset from patton. or maybe it started with patton. who knows.

“so, uh,” virgil says. “what’re you listening to?”

“pop song,” roman says. “after your time. i think it’s too young for you. and it’s also, like, slightly cheerful and confidence-boosting.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you’ve been sneak-playing mcr for the past two days,” roman says accusingly. 

“they’re a good band,” virgil protests, and then, with an affected, forceful casualness, “your dad liked them too.”

roman pauses. hearing about his dad is kind of like… well, honestly, it’s kind of like hearing about bigfoot, or mothman, or yetis, or some other kind of cryptid. sure, people might have seen him. roman never had. sure, people had interacted with him. roman hadn’t. sure, people had stories about him. roman didn’t. sure, people might have blurry, strange pictures that roman had touched, stared at, seen his whole life. roman didn’t have one _with_ him, not even his dad holding him as a baby. remus duke is almost a larger-than-life, obscure piece of sideshire mythology. remus duke, the famous horror author, with the tragic death, who’d once been the mysterious partner in crime with local loner virgil, who’d bravely volunteered to co-parent with the fearsome isadora prince. people might have seen him. believed in him. 

roman feels like a cryptid hunter, sometimes. like he’s doomed to always be questing out into the mysterious unknown, searching for some evidence, some form of personal connection, some story that’s _his_. he’s almost always come up empty.

doesn’t stop him from turning back for another quest.

he takes another sip. and, in an affected, forcefully casual tone, he says, “did he?”

virgil clears his throat. “yeah. uh—yeah.”

“that’s… cool,” roman says. 

“i kind of—“ virgil coughs. “i mean, i, uh. sorry for the whole awkward… hugging thing. i just—you know. i think he would have been happy. to hear they were back together.”

roman swallows and looks down into his cup. “oh.”

 _he would have been happy._ roman hears that sometimes. apparently, his dad would have been happy that he turned out dancing like his mom. apparently, his dad would have been happy that he had once tackled a mean kid at sideshire for calling logan annoying. apparently, his dad would have been happy that my chemical romance reunited.

it’s not like roman would know.

roman taps his fingernails against the cup and looks back up at virgil, before he says, “were they his favorite?”

“huh?”

“my chemical romance,” roman elaborates. “were they my dad’s favorite band?”

“ah, no,” virgil says. “no. he, uh—he liked a lot of bands. his favorites changed a lot. but he liked, um—he liked the residents, and captain beefheart and the magic band. oh, and rockbitch.”

roman’s lip twitches. “captain beefheart?”

“it was a band from the sixties,” virgil says. “lots of experimental stuff. he liked everything as long as it was weird.”

“yeah, i’ve heard,” roman says. 

virgil hesitates, before he says, “once, he just played _it’s a small world_ on loop for a week.”

roman cringes at the very _idea._ virgil laughs.

“yeah, i think that reaction was half the reason,” he says. “i think i, um. i think i’ve still got his cd collection in some boxes, stored away. he had the biggest music collection of anyone i’d ever met. i think the idea of spotify or music streaming the way we’ve got now would’ve given him heart palpitations.”

“of stress?”

“of excitement,” virgil corrects, and his lips twitch up in a bittersweet kind of smile. “he would have hacked the diner playlist and stuffed it full of rickrolling and a ten-hour gregorian chant remix and cotton eye joe and peanut butter jelly time and some pirate shanties, with, like, jesus take the wheel and that one song about christmas shoes thrown in for color.”

roman laughs, and virgil looks relieved.

“but, i figured,” virgil says, and shrugs. “i think you like music even more than him, maybe. so if you’ve got a stereo somewhere, you could—you could take any cd you want from it. i’m sure your mom would be thrilled to hear the dulcet tones of tuvan throat singing blaring in the apartment again.”

“okay,” roman says, and his voice comes out more eager than he means it to. “i—yeah, okay. i’d like that.”

“yeah?” virgil says.

“yeah,” roman says.

“uh, virgil?” jean calls. “the oven’s doing the smoking thing again!”

virgil curses under his breath, getting to his feet, before he taps his fingers against the table. “just—let me know when, yeah? i can show you the mcr album he doodled all over. practically gave it new cover art.”

“okay,” roman says.

“and do your homework!” virgil shouts over the din of concerned customers, even as he’s heading for the kitchen.

roman sighs, but tugs his textbook closer and opens it again.

the smile reappears on his face when, a couple songs later, a g-note rings throughout the diner.

**Author's Note:**

> if you'd like to prompt a sideshire file, my tumblr is [lovelylogans!](https://www.lovelylogans.tumblr.com) thank you for reading!


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